Hope Shall Not Fail
by Wildhorses1492
Summary: "Whoso pulleth out this sword from this stone is right wise born King of all Narnia..." It has been two score and ten since last was seen the Crown Prince of Narnia and Protector of Telmar. Who shall be king after Caspian X? Aslan has promised that, for the Narnians' hope in Him, He will bring forth an Heir. A Sword-in-the-Stone fanfic stemmed from Cosette24601's idea.
1. Seek Hope

**_~Faith Shall Not Fail~_**

 _"Who shall be king after me when I am gone? A-Aslan, my son is missing, possibly dead! Who knows if he yet breathes? Who will take the throne after I am gone and rule as a good and true king over Narnia and Telmar, as these lands deserve?"_

 _"Oh, Caspian, Narnia and Telmar shall never be alone. I will not forsake them, or you. Do not be of little faith, dear son; keep strong, for I will not let such bold and true hearts which follow after me fail in sorrow and dissent. Bring to me the great-sword Rhindon, with which the High King Peter did slay Maugrim the Wolf-Captain and many Fell creatures that could not live in my Light. I shall show you how you and yours will not be forgotten or lost."_

 **~xoO)|(Oox~**

The late fall wind gently caught the strands of the solitary man's white-grey hair in its fingers as it echoed a soft and lonely song. Dry leaves skittered hollowly across the flagstone path surrounding a great grey stone in the now-worn courtyard. Dark brown eyes which had seen many wars, both lost and won, gazed upon the golden hilt of the great-sword which reared up from the granite block.

The sky was a barren and empty white. Dark clouds moved wearily against the others, but they were not bringing any promise of rain; merely a grey to match the emptiness and mute sorrow in the old man's heart. The wind caught the edges of the long black cape he wore and fanned it out around him; it was pinned with a silver clasp to his left shoulder as he had preferred since his youth. The sleeves of his maroon shirt billowed out, reminding him of his many voyages upon the Eastern Ocean in decades past.

The crown he wore upon his brow felt suddenly heavy, and his head seemed to sink onto his shoulders tiredly as he gazed at the stone of granite, remembering the promise Aslan had given him when the Great Lion had placed it there. The promise which had also been inscribed upon the rock, so that none in the vast kingdom may forget that which Aslan had sworn to give them for their love and faith in Him.

 _"This sword which I put into the stone shall never be moved until he who is to be king after you comes to make it so. Do not falter in your faith of me, come war or jubilee, for such a vow will never come to pass if you forget Him who breathed it into life."_

His throne would not be without an heir. The High King would not be disappointed in him for failing to provide for Narnia's future. When next he met that great ruler, he hoped Peter did not think him foolish for refusing to marry another if only for the sake of his country and not his heart. He worried and wondered, prayed and cursed, as his time in this land drew to a close and the call of Aslan's Country grew nigh.

Would anyone be heir to his throne? Many a young knight, baron, lord, lady, countess, or other noble –even the subjects male and female– had come to try their hand, paw, and claw at pulling the great-sword from the stone. But it could not be done. None had succeeded, and had instead moved on to vie for the throne in small battles fought in unremarkable places throughout Narnia and Telmar. They caused pain only to themselves because they were not holding hope in the promise of Aslan, but only lessening their faith in the Golden Lion to provide for them by quarreling.

"What have I done wrong that you would see fit to abandon me, Aslan? Have you left me because of how this land is sinking into betrayal, greed, and malice? I am no longer able of body enough to rule this wild and willful country; you know it takes one steady of hand and strong of heart to reside over such a vast people. Aslan, Aslan, why have you forsaken me?" He tilted his head to stare up into the grey sky, dark eyes filled with pain and confusion.

"My lord King, the _Silver Swan_ is ready to sail with the tide." A young man with dark auburn hair grown long past his shoulders approached the king through a worn arch, around which vines –having shed their leaves for the coming fall– had wrapped, giving the place a forlorn appearance. The dark indigo tunic the knight wore seemed fitting, for the he was one of the Knights of the Table, and in the old days the colors of this order had been indigo and grey, though this was all but unknown to many scholars of the day.

"Yes. . . It is time, isn't it?" the old King whispered, his voice sounding very much unlike the young prince he was remembering being in days forgotten.

"Come, Sire, for the time draws nigh." The knight held out a guiding hand, nodding his head, the hilt of his sword a spark of bright gold midst all the grey and shadows of the ancient courtyard, which was as aged as the King himself, many said. In response, the King grasped the young fingers in his old, leaning wearily upon the strong shoulder of Sir Cae.

"You have not ever attempted to draw the great-sword with your own hand, have you?" the King wondered softly, not glancing at the knight but gazing ahead, lost in thought of where he was to sail.

"No, my lord, I have not dared do such a thing in all my life," Sir Cae answered, looking back over his shoulder at the stone and the sword as they turned into a hall which would lead them to the docks.

"Perhaps that is well," the King murmured. "I am glad that you have not forsaken my rule in favor of seeking out a possible heir to my throne. It is some small comfort to know I leave my kingdom in a few sensible young hands." The knight only nodded, feeling that words would be too much in answer.

They walked in silence down many halls and shallow stairs, until they came to the corridor before the royal docks; at the end of the corridor they could barely discern the congregation of mournful nobles and subjects who were standing gathered together, aggrieved to see their king depart from them, even if his time had come to return over the ocean to Aslan's Country.

The King stopped, causing Sir Cae to peer over at him in question with grey-blue eyes. He found the man looking back, his dark eyes holding something wise and warning.

"It is well, young knight, that you have not forsaken your order. Do not abandon your faith, either, as so may have done. For the Great Aslan promised that our faith only would keep the promise valid. So many have abandoned their faith; so many have forsaken their hope. It is small wonder the Great Lion has left us. Remember, Sir Cae, to keep the faith."

With those final words, the old monarch stepped out into the light and walked down to his subjects who were bidding him tearful goodbyes. Several men with grey hair and white beards, nearly as ancient as the King himself, stepped up to him and clasped his hands and arms, speaking soft words of farewell though their eyes remained bright with unshed tears. They had been beside their king through many things, and it ached their hearts that they could not go with him on this last adventure.

Several knights of the Table, part of Sir Cae's order, were present and came before their liege lord and beloved monarch, bowing their heads and keeping tense hands upon their hilts, for they were saddened deeply to see their king and head of their order depart. Sir Gwayn came forward and unashamedly embraced him, tears falling down his cheeks. The old man had fought with the king in the Northlands, where he had saved the old knight from death.

While Sir Cae watched, he became aware of two young people, a maid and a youth, approaching his king cautiously, as if slightly afraid but curious to see who he was and what was going on. The knight did not move to go question them, for this was a grievous day, and he did not begrudge them a final look of King Caspian, tenth of that name. No, it was well they were curious to look upon his ancient face, for he was a man to be admired among many. He had fought for the Narnians though he owed them nothing, and he had restored the Narnia known of Old with the help of the Kings and Queens of the Golden Age; those great lords and ladies whom he had summoned by calling upon a magical horn; it was so written in the history books, therefore it _must_ be truth.

Then, the King gently separated himself from his loyal knights and began a lonely walk up the gangway, toward his old friend and captain Lord Drinian, standing with a few of the Narnians and Telmarines still living who had accompanied King Caspian on his journey into the unknown Eastern Ocean. The white-haired man turned, leaning against the rail for support, to gaze down upon his beloved subjects.

A wail rose from those gathered, but when he lifted a frail and weathered hand, it was quickly silenced so each one might hear what their king's final words were to be.

"Beloved, I am old; ancient of days and granted a long and full life. Though the path ahead is unsure, I am not anxious for you. Aslan shall be with you even as I was with you. Until the promise is fulfilled, I know I leave you in capable hands, paws, and claws. They shall perhaps rule over you better than I– a man well past threescore and ten years."

"No, no, no, 'tis not true! They cannot rule so well as thou, and neither wilt any heir rule so wisely as thee hast done!" the cry rose up, running over the king's words.

Again, he raised his hand, and again fell a quiet over the congregation. "Yes, Yes." His voice seemed somewhat stronger, and grew clearer as he spoke. "Yes, it is time for me to go. Remember me sometimes, my people –my children– for I have loved you well. I am going a long way, now, and I do not think I shall return hither anymore.

"Do not forget me, I pray, too fast. Aslan keep thee always between His great and gentle paws!" And with that, he disappeared from sight onto the ship.

The knight's heart grew heavy, and he forced himself to turn away as the great vessel began slowly gliding out of the royal harbor and into the east. He would nevermore see his beloved king, and it grieved him.

He walked down the halls and made his way eventually to the chambers and passages for the knights of the Table's order. It was here they lived with their families or simply alone, keeping one another company. Sir Cae, shut up in his rooms to mourn, did not hear word of the two young people who claimed they had been sent by the Great Lion to find and rescue King Caspian's son, the Crown Prince Rilian; Knight of the Lion's Mane order, Lord of Cair Paravel, Regent of the Lone Islands, and Protector of Telmar– at least, such would be his titles had he not vanished so many years before.

 **~xoO)|(Oox~**

The five knights stood on the outer wall above the closed gates of Cair Paravel, staring out over the lands of Narnia bathed in moonlight. A year it had been since their king had departed them for lands beyond the sun. A year had it been since the strange youth and maid had come declaring they had been sent by Aslan to recover the lost Prince of Narnia and Telmar. Many in the castle spoke of that strange happening, now talking of the two strangers as if they had been some unstable fools, probably out to give false hopes. Sir Tor, a large black Falcon, perched on the wall, his keen eyes focused upon the dark and quiet landscape.

"I sometimes wonder if perhaps all have gone mad with the desire to lay claim to the joint thrones of Telmar and Narnia," Sir Elyan the White, a large white-coated Wolf, declared.

"The whole world has become crazed. Everyone and no one wish to rule over Narnia and Telmar," Sir Cae replied dully, his mind still dwelling on the sword in the stone, which he had recently come off-duty of guarding.

"We cannot allow our hope to wane, my friends. If we have no hope in the Great Lion, then we have naught faith. We must hold fast our faith!" Sir Caradoc, a dappled Stallion, answered with a horsey grunt.

These words struck Sir Cae deeply, bringing to mind what the King had told him before setting sail. Were they losing faith by scoffing at the children brave enough to follow clues to the lost Prince instead of trying to bring just anyone to the sword in the stone? Were they failing as knights of the Table in upholding their oath to serve the King and Aslan? Had they fallen short somewhere and were now being punished because of it?

Had he failed in the king's final command? Such deep thoughts moved within the young knight's breast, and he was troubled.

"It is a calm night," commented Sir Brastius, a chestnut Centaur, as he came over from a different section of the wall which he guarded, gazing down at the snow-covered landscape.

"Yes. Dark, still and silent as the Lion. I wonder if we have grieved Him by what we have done," Sir Tor wondered sadly, head bowing.

"What have we done, my friend? We have not tried to seek out people for the throne; we have not cursed Aslan or our departed king. We have striven ever-and-always to heed the oaths to which we have sworn. Have any of us broken them? I do not think so! There are many throughout this vast land that are still faithful to Aslan and fear His great name!" Sir Caradoc declared with a passion, tossing his noble head and stamping his shod hooves until they rang against the marble beneath him.

"Ah, my night companions! See there, what is this light my eyes think to deceive me into seeing?" Sir Tor cried after a long and thoughtful silence had descended over the small group of knights.

The Narnians hurried to the wall and gazed out over the land. There. They could see it also. A light –small and weak in the darkness– could be discerned. They glanced at one another, puzzled. Who or what could this be? It would be long, perhaps just as morning set in, before the traveler would arrive at the gates of the castle by the sea. What news would they bring?

All the uneasy knights could do now was await the dawn, and whatever lay in the west that was steadily growing nearer.

 **~xoO)|(Oox~**

He stared out nervously at the castle rising up beside the glinting and sparkling ocean. What was he doing, going on alone without his guides? Perhaps things had changed in the years he had been cursed and enchanted? Perhaps everything was not as he remembered? It had been two score and ten since last he had seen his beloved home, but though so many years had passed, and so many of his friends had aged, the enchantments placed upon him had kept him young.

 **~0O0~**

He inquired of the youth and maiden –Eustace and Jill– how much time had passed above, but they were unable to tell him, offering in the darkness a manner of apology because they had not been long enough in Narnia to learn the date of His Majesty's disappearance to now. But when he asked of the Marshwiggle, Puddleglum, the Narnian remained silent to the question. and instead answered him thusly:

"Sire, no news to ever be heard has ever been told to be good news."

That quieted him, and he asked no more, besides occasionally how the World Above seemed, and if all was moderately well in it. Eustace told him it seemed well enough, and Rilian did press his question further, realizing in the dark that the youth was uncomfortable with his lack of knowledge of Narnia being revealed in the maid's presence.

When they had been rescued, and they saw it was winter, he was surprised. He put the question to Eustace, asking anxiously if it might be another Eternal Winter. The boy answered quickly that it couldn't be, since everyone was so merry. That eased his fears, and he was separated from his tired companions to talk with several older Narnians beside the fire, who recognized him from years past.

As he sat fireside, talking amiably enough with a grey-haired Faun, Puddleglum approached and sat down to his left. "What you asked in the tunnel was no light matter, and it's far glummer than I had wished to speak before the two young Other-Worlders," the Marshwiggle informed him slowly.

"What are you saying? Has Narnia fallen?" he asked anxiously, leaning closer to the Marshwiggle.

The Narnian looked away in answer, huffing out a slow breath as he gathered the grim thoughts that he and his kind were uncommonly used to bearing and professing. "No, Your Highness. But, seeing you unchanged, as you were the day you departed, I. . ."

Rilian waited, fear in his eyes, wondering what was going to be told him, though he said nothing.

"Everyone around you has aged, but you have not, Prince Rilian. Your father, the King. . . Your father is old, and he has gone across the Ocean on his final adventure almost a year past," Puddleglum replied haltingly, almost unable to watch his future king's face change from withheld unease to open grief.

The Prince dropped his head into his hands, and his shoulders shook with his silent weeping. He was young of spirit and mind, while everyone he had ever known was old and grey. Puddleglum watched silent, having nothing to say besides far more gloomier things, as the Prince wept for everything he had lost.

 **~0O0~**

Prince Rilian swallowed, reaching up and grasping the fabric of his hooded cloak, which had been given to him by a Faun. The bitterly cold winter wind pulled at him, and he now wondered why he had asked to ride on ahead alone. But, beneath him, Coalblack pranced, tossing his fine dark head. Throwing his fears to the ragged winter wind, Rilian spurred the stallion onward. He would return home, and nothing would bar him from it again.

.

.

 ** _"So you, by the help of your God, return;  
hold fast to love and justice,  
and wait continually for your God." ~ Hosea 12:6_**


	2. Keep Faith

**~xoO)|(Oox~**

As the journey had begun, King Caspian would take slow and meditating walks about the deck, but, as the days progressed, a sailor found the King one morning reclining weakly in his royal cabins, too ill and tired to continue the practice. So it was that this young sailor, Tristan by name, took it upon himself to come sit daily at the bedside of the King and regale him with information of the day's business.

The old monarch listened intently, nodding his head slowly and then asking something, or explaining to the sailor how he had sailed in his youth; when there were hardly any boys trained in the ways of a ship at sea and he, the King of Narnia, had been charged with a common sailor's duties readily enough when the moment pressed it. Tristan would raise an eyebrow and smile with interest, marveling at a man who was a king but understood the rougher things of the world, and took great interest in them even now, after the old ways had changed.

"Even now, my lord king, if you could, would you change that experience for something less tedious and trying?" he had asked the first time the ancient monarch had told him of some little tale.

In a hoarse and worn voice, the King had answered, "No, Tristan, I would not have traded all my experiences of the ordinary man for all the wealth in my country. Would you give up the ocean because sailing a vessel is difficult?" The young sailor quickly shook his head, understanding better now. "Truly, the same is mine," the King whispered, his hand slipping down the sheets to his side, inhaling a weak breath.

So they spent time in company; with the sailor comforting his king and at times painfully reminding the old man he was not his son. King Caspian told this young sailor of the End of the World, of his wife, the Star's daughter, and of all he had seen after his first voyage. He told him of strange lands where mists of all colors rose from the ground, and of a curious little island upon which a strange old man dressed in grey resided, almost as a hermit, having for his company only a few queer little men which had been dwarves in ages past, but were now called Dufflepuds, or Monopods, or Duffers; whatever you liked, however one wished to call them, for they argued the matter endlessly.

He told him of a grave adventure with a dragon –not the boy-turned-dragon– but a real dragon, which would have killed him had he not been watching for the creature's trickery. He spoke to Tristan of Calormen, and asked the youth what he thought of the country.

"I find it a confounding land, and wonder how one should ever wish to be beneath such a cruel god," Tristan answered honestly.

"It has been said of the Great Aslan that He is also cruel. What great king or god leaves His children to suffer as the Narnians have in ages past?" the king asked wisely, leading the sailor to search for a deeper explanation than that of the Calormene.

"How could a man think such things?" The youth rose up, a look of disbelief clear upon his yet-unlined face.

"It is as any man would ask, were he to hear you speak so of Aslan and of Tash. I have met many a man and Creature which believes in Nothing, and shall stand by this Nothing until he breathes his last. You, young Tristan, must find it in your heart why it is and what it is that tells you Aslan is different from other gods of this world, and even those beyond.

"Why is He better than Tash? Why might He be seen as less? And why do some not believe in either and instead choose Nothing at all?" The old king exhaled softly, turning his gaze to the ceiling; watching the patterns of light dance across it from the sunbeams striking the water; from the glint in his dark eyes, it was to be discerned that he had discovered the answers in his own heart. Tristan struggled to find something to reply, but instead met confusion within.

It was then that Drinian entered the cabin, still spry for a man of his considerable years because of a healthy life lived at sea. "My friend," he began, being one of the few men who did not address the King with some title or intricate manner of speech. "We are close at hand to the End. Soon we shall be coming to Ramandu's Island."

"Ah, it has seemed. . . too long, far too long, since I last saw those shores. We must allow Tristan to see them also," the King answered quietly, turning his head to look at the captain with a tired smile.

"Well, before he can see any enchanted shores, he must come take the con!" Drinian replied merrily enough, although it served him ill to see his old companion in such a weakened state, and it made his heart heavy to remember that they were old.

"Tristan, heed your captain; I'll not be keeping an honest and good sailor as you from your work," the monarch declared, motioning for the youth to take his leave. Tristan nodded and hurried from the room.

"Caspian, must you go on alone? Why can I not follow as I have always done?" Drinian asked hesitantly, still puzzled as to why Caspian insisted on going on alone when they came to the End.

"There comes a time when all companions must part, my friend. When all great adventurers separate down individual paths. We cannot be always at one another's backs, you know." A smile appeared on the aged face as Caspian murmured those simple words.

"Then I pray we meet again soon; 'tis not fair you have the adventures before me!" Tears came into the old captain's eyes, and his voice broke, knowing it was soon now that he would speak to his friend for the last time.

"Sit awhile, and tell me of something I have not heard," Caspian requested softly. Drinian slowly approached the bedside and seated himself in the chair young Tristan had vacated, speaking slowly and hoarsely of a time before he had known Caspian, when the world as all the youths and maids knew it had not existed.

 **~xoO)|(Oox~**

"Halt, rider! Pray tell, what causes you to arrive in such haste to the gates of Cair Paravel and the citadel of Altair?" Sir Cae put the question to the stranger riding upon the tall black charger with his face swathed in a dark grey cloak and hood. The knight looked down from the gate, hand slowly creeping toward his hilt, glancing at his companions standing with him.

"I am Rilian, Crown Prince of Narnia, Protector of Telmar, and Regent of Cair Paravel in my lord King Caspian the tenth's absence! I have been held captive, but am now freed. Under enchantment, but now disenchanted. I have come to lay claim to the throne which, if I heard aright, stands empty of it's king," the stranger answered back, throwing off his hood and staring up at the knights upon the wall.

Sir Cae reeled back, looking to his friends and comrades for support. Truly the youth's face was a mirror of the paintings of the Lost Prince. Sir Tor screeched a Falcon's cry, and flapped his great wings, but kept silent.

"Enter, stranger, but we know not if you are who you say you are, for Prince Rilian has been gone two score years and ten. He would not be such a youth as you, but a warrior aged, with streaks of grey to color the blondness of his head!" Sir Caradoc answered back, neighing sternly as he leaned his fine head over the ramparts.

"As you say, Master Horse, but I was held under strong enchantment, and to not appear as I aught," the blonde stranger returned as the gates began to silently open.

"Sir Cae, we must call the Council and Regents together; this is time for great deliberation," Sir Caradoc declared, looking to his companion.

"Aye, I shall call for them to be assembled," the auburn-haired knight answered back, striding off.

 **~xoO)|(Oox~**

Rilian walked around the gardens, now and then glancing up towards the terrace upon which the Lords and Regents held council. This had been carrying on for a fortnight, and the young man wondered when they would decide he was their future king and Caspian the Tenth's heir apparent. It seemed they would never come to terms! The youth, Eustace, and the maid, Jill, were yet to return; an Eagle bringing him news that they, along with Puddleglum, were temporarily delayed in their travels because of the snow and frigid winters Narnia was known for since the fall of the White Witch.

The youth looked about him, staring at the forlorn grey and whiteness of the courtyard and gardens he walked in. It looked nothing as he remembered, and this pained him, for his mother had always considered the gardens of Cair Paravel a beautiful place and something to be well looked after. As he took another turn about the courtyard, he spied an iron gate, hardly noticeable, and covered with a year's worth of dormant honeysuckle vines.

A loud shout from the terrace turned his attention away from it momentarily. He waited, motionless, to see if they would look out the windows at him, but they did not. Exhaling, he moved over towards the gate and carefully pushed it just until he could slip through it, without damaging the vines, which would be beautiful come the spring. On the other side of the gate and the garden wall, there was a long-overgrown and worn garden path, with trees unkempt and plants wild. He frowned, but his curiosity overcame him and he went on instead of going back, looking over his shoulder as he advanced, in case the Lords and Knights were looking for him out the windows.

At long last, the path ended in an arch, which opened into an aged courtyard crumbling from the carelessness of time. Rilian gazed about in wonder. This was something his father had not created. It must be some enchanted place from the times of the Ancients, he mused, stepping carefully onto the worn cobbles, dead grasses growing between them. It was then, as he came closer, that he noticed the boulder in the center of the open-roofed stone pavilion. Tall reeds grew round it, concealing it, though he could see that he stone itself was not worn with time or weather.

He slowly knelt, carefully pulling up the weeds around it. After he had finished, he lifted his head, and was startled to see fixed into the granite boulder a great-sword. Why would any man or Beast do such a foolish thing? he wondered. It was a waste of an excellent blade, if he was any judge of craftsmanship. Pushing himself to his feet, he walked slowly around the stone, staring thoughtfully at the weapon, striving to determined if it were a clever trick or a genuine object.

"He who calls himself Rilian, wherefore hast thou gone? Fled in fear of thy trickery coming to light?" a stern and austere voice echoed from the direction he had come, and Rilian whirled, startled. Shaking his head, he glanced back at the sword fixed into the stone, and then once more did he look in the direction he should be going. Deciding then, he nimbly climbed atop the granite boulder until he stood firmly upon it's face. Taking a deep breath, he slowly placed his hands upon the golden sword-hilt. As he did, a scuffling and barking could be heard from the direction of the courtyard he had abandoned.

As he applied his strength to the great-sword, several nobles emerged from the overgrown path, Hounds and Wolves before them having scented his trail to determined where he had gone. They looked at the blonde youth in horror. "Nay, thou canst not do such a thing!" a tall, grey-headed man who had been a young friend of the Crown Prince in his youth, cried, stretching out a hand to the likeness of his friend.

Even as he spoke, Rilian pulled the blade from the stone, amazed at how simple it had been; surely it was some sort of trick, he marveled. What had been ejaculations of dismay and anger turned into a breathless cry of "Oh!" from the small band of nobles. He looked at them with disbelief when the grey-haired man, now known as Sir Ulfius, cried out that here was at last their king.

"Now, I pray, wait just a moment!" Rilian objected from atop the granite block, pointing the shining steel blade at the gathering to halt them in their advancement, his blue eyes narrowing in suspicion. "I heard just seconds past that thee were at thine patience's end with me, and quite willing to mete out some certain death after seeing me upon this granite stone. Now, however, you have somewhat revised your tale, and seem ready to crown me lord and master; why this rapid change of heart?"

"It is said. . ." Sir Ulfius paused, overcome at this answer to their worries being before their eyes. "It has been written upon the boulder thou takes as thy foothold that there shall come but one person, be they male or female was unknown, who wilt pull the blade in thy hands from the stone, and it is they we shalt make our leader, for only they have the blessing to pull the sword from the stone," he explained, pointing to the words Aslan had inscribed upon the granite so long ago.

"And so. . . the question of my parentage and my claim is cast aside, and I truly am the next to ascend the joint thrones of Narnia and of Telmar?" Rilian asked, still cautious. He had been kept fifty years in hostage by a clever liaress, he would not fall under similar tricks of tongue and word.

"Yes, my lord; truly, you are the future king of Narnia and Telmar!" Lord Morien replied, speaking for Sir Ulfius, who had fallen silent.

"But I shall not receive the crown from my father's hands," Rilian declared, his arm lowering the sword until it touched the stone, a far off look entering his eyes which caused those grouped around to grow quiet and solemn.

"Sir Ulfius! Where is Sir Ulfius?" a young auburn-haired man in an indigo tunic with a golden lion blazoned on the chest ran into the clearing, a large White Wolf bounding at his side. Rilian looked over at him, a slight frown of confusion coming to his face, a trait of his father's which many recognized sadly.

The young man stopped with a start, staring at Rilian upon the granite stone. "He. . . He has. . ." He stared, mouth agape, the Wolf beside him no less surprised at this strange turn of events.

"Yes, Sir Cae, he has removed the sword from the stone; he is our right and true king," Sir Ulfius responded, turning to look back at Rilian and bow his head in respect, a smile slowly coming across his bearded face.

"S-sire, my father was a friend of yours, Sir Ector of Ettinsmoor, do you recall him?" the auburn-haired young man asked, bowing slowly, what he had come to say temporarily forgotten.

Rilian started, jumping down from the stone and slowly walking over to the knight. He regarded him with care, keen blue eyes searching Sir Cae's features. "Yes, I recall Sir Ector, you. . . you have his face," the Crown Prince answered softly, a break of emotion in his voice as he reached out with his free hand towards the knight of the Table.

"He spoke of you fondly before he died, and said a nobler man he had never met," Sir Cae declared quietly, a smile coming to his lips.

"Would you serve me, and be my friend, as your father was?" Rilian asked after a pause, his voice low.

Sir Cae placed a hand on the Crown Prince's shoulder. "Of course, my lord, my king, my. . . _friend,"_ he whispered, nodding. Rilian laughed gently, tears welling in his eyes at the memory of his old friend who now belonged to this world no more.

"Sir Cae, what news was it you strove to bring hither when you were thus interrupted?" Lord Morien queried, after seeing that the two young men had come to a point of agreement upon whatever it was that they were conversing about.

The knight turned away from the young man who was to be his king and answered, "The _Silver Swan_ sails from the east; a merchant sighted her yesterday on return from Galma; the captain says that she was sailing from an uninhabited cove when he came upon them, but did not stop to question her, as he knew she was of the king's fleet."

The Narnian and Telmarine nobles tittered, looking to one another in surprise. Finally, it was Sir Gaheris who spoke. "Well, if that was yesterday, then tis today the _Silver Swan_ should find herself in this very port! Surely she would not return so soon if King Caspian was no more. We must prepare the Crown Prince to receive his father, the King!" Around the group went a shout of agreement, and hands were raised to the air as the cry went out.

"I shall take my leave of thee, then, Sire," Sir Cae declared, bowing to Rilian and turning smartly on his heel, Sir Elyan the White close to his side.

"Quickly, my lord, we must change thine attire and make thee ready to greet the King!" Lord Morien exclaimed, reaching out and grasping the youth's arm and shoulder to perhaps convey to him the urgency with which they must act. Rilian let himself be led out of the pavilion, keeping the great-sword close to his side, under his cloak, wary lest any man try to take it from him.

.

.

 ** _"The grass withers, the flower fades,  
but the word of our God will stand forever." ~ Isaiah 40:8_**

.

 ** _""Blessed are the poor in spirit,  
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  
_** ** _Blessed are those who mourn,  
for they shall be comforted. ~ Matthew 5:3-4 _**


	3. Know Peace

**~xoO)|(Oox~**

When he had seen in the dream his beloved wife beckoning him to return to Narnia, he had at first been confused. Strange, that though he was so close to reaching her she would have him turn back. Now, he had grown too weak to even raise himself from bed, and Tristan was his only companion besides Drinian; he had plenty of time to ponder the strange dreams in silence, telling no one; but he did tell his friend to turn the ship about and make for Galma.

It was to a lonely port there –which he had not visited since his adventure into the east with Queen Lucy, King Edmund, and Sir Eustace– that his wife wished he come to. So, confusing as it was, Drinian ordered his men to turn the ship about and make for Galma.

As they came closer to the uninhabited cove, Caspian finally felt he must confess his secrets, lest his friend and young companion think him unsound of mind.

"Tristan, send for your captain, but return also, for there is something I must inform you both of," he whispered to the young sailor. The youth hurried to his feet and left the cabin in haste, though not without great care to keep quiet. When he returned with his captain, he stood off in a corner of the cabin and waited for his King to speak.

"Drinian?" Caspian asked, looking up at the old man carefully.

"Yes, my friend? Tristan informed me that you called, and so here I am," he replied simply, coming near to the bedside and grasping the other aged hand in his own calloused and weathered one.

"I have been dreaming for a fortnight of Liliandil; that is the reason I must go hence to Galma. I could not deny her anything in life, why now should I change course after death?" Caspian whispered hoarsely to his friend.

"You needn't explain thyself to me, old friend," Drinian answered with a faint smile, dipping his curly white head.

"Verily, but still I wished to tell thee anyhow. What good is letting confidences slack where they have always been strong?" the old king asked wisely.

"I see, Caspian, I see," Drinian murmured, slowly releasing the king's hand and turning from the room.

In another fortnight they reached the cove. Caspian was informed, but remained silent, declaring only that he would talk of the matter the following day. That afternoon, however, he beckoned for Tristan to come close beside him. "I am to be going ashore alone, save you, Tristan," the king whispered into the sailor's ear after he leaned in.

"But, my lord, I do not think –" the sailor began, uncertain.

"Quiet!" the king declared, rising ever-so-slightly from his bed and looking at the sailor sternly. "I am to go alone, it is _Aslan's_ order. He came to me –no, he could not have entered this cabin– it was in a vision, and he declared that I was to take no other personage but you, Tristan. We cannot dare refuse the King of high kings," he finished firmly, sounding far younger than ever he had before.

"As you wish, my King," Tristan replied, suddenly feeling small and unworthy, _very_ unworthy, for such a task as this.

"Peace, young one. You are not to be ashamed of yourself. I was once told that I am of a lineage which would lift the head of the meanest beggar and bow the shoulders of the of the noblest of emperors. So it can be said for you, Tristan. This is no task too great for you, and it is no task to small. If Aslan did not know your heart, then he would not have asked it of you. Know peace," Caspian finished, whispering the words softly to himself over and over. But at some point, Tristan believed him to be saying "be content," though he could say for sure.

That evening, as the sun began to touch the tops of the mountains of Narnia just barely to be seen in the west, Caspian, leaning upon Tristan's strong arm, made his lonely way up the sandy shores of the Galmanian beach, after ordering the men who had rowed him ashore to turn back and under no circumstances whatever, to follow him.

"What do we search for, my lord king?" Tristan whispered, gazing about himself uneasily.

Caspian did not reply. Then, suddenly, there was a merry yet solemn roar, and a great golden lion, as large as a young elephant, bounded out of the bushes at them. But the look upon Caspian's face was markedly different from Tristan's. It changed into an expression of joy, whilst Tristan's became one of horror, and he cried out in spite of himself.

But then, when he opened his eyes, there was a merry laugh, and the great lion licked his face gently, His warm breath sweet and relaxing. "Come, son of Adam, and know me, for I am Aslan, One who Loves you." The words were spoken firmly, but with such an overwhelming feeling of endless emotion that Tristan felt a keen ache in his heart, and reached hesitantly towards the Lion.

Tristan looked about for King Caspian, and noticed the old monarch standing beside the Lion, a joyous smile upon his face, and looking far better than he had in an age. "I am not. . . worthy of knowing you, Aslan. I cannot defend my love of you, nor understand why I do. I. . . Again I say I am not worthy," he whispered, feeling the ache strike deeper, as if meaning to pierce his heart and kill him.

"No, Son of Adam! No, you are one for whom I have given my life. You I Love, without end. Come to me and I shall give you rest," the Golden Lion murmured deep in His throat, as if He were purring. He turned solemn gold eyes upon the youth, until Tristan had no choice but to gaze back.

"Oh, Aslan!" Tristan cried, coming and burying his face in the Lion's mane. After a time, he stepped back, feeling foolish. He had come here for the King, not for himself. Aslan's chuckle rumbled deep in His throat as the sailor pulled back.

"Truly, you are a noble heart, Tristan!" the Lion growled, before looking to Caspian.

"Caspian, your son has returned; Rilian has come home, and you must bestow upon him your blessing, and let him bid you farewell. This is the reason I have called you back. Still your soul, Caspian, and be content. Do not allow cares of the world to cloud your joy," the Lion reprimanded sternly, coming forward and bestowing upon the old king the firm kisses of a lion, while Caspian leaned forward and wept with joy into His mane.

The three walked in that place, sat, and slept until the morning. But it did not seem as if time had passed, for when one was with Aslan, time was not something to be regarded.

 **~0O0~**

"Now, Tristan, kneel." As the King and the sailor began to make their way down to the beach, after bidding Aslan a heart-aching farewell, the Lion called the youth back. Caspian stopped where he was, the wind tugging against his frail form and billowing the great velvet cape he wore out around his body.

The sailor knelt, looking carefully upon the ground, trying not to feel fearful and uneasy and afraid. Aslan chuckled, and then Tristan felt His great paw rest lightly upon his head.

"I knight thee Sir Tristan of the Table: Brave of heart and Noble of mind. Do not forget your allegiance to the King, whomever he might be. Do not forsake him in times of war and in the days of peace, for there shall be many of those and few of turmoil. Do not let peace make your heart hardened. Serve first my father, the great Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea, and second the king. Farewell, may your life be blessed." The paw was lifted, and Tristan, tears streaking his cheeks, looked up, but the Lion was not there. Only the wind through the long grass and Caspian behind him, waiting patiently.

"Come, Sir Tristan, for a new king waits you at Cair Paravel. I sense the winds are changing, we shall make good time," King Caspian murmured tiredly, sounding far weaker than he had when they had been with Aslan.

When they reached the _Silver Swan_ , the King could not even muster the strength to walk to his cabin, and had to be carried upon a stretcher to it. Sir Tristan was given new clothes, though they made him uncomfortable, and did not stir from the old king's side.

As they came in sight of Cair Paravel the following morning, Sir Tristan informed Drinian that the King would not be able to walk at all, and that he was rapidly fading. Drinian was grave about the matter, asked to see the King alone, for the last and final time, and then told the newly-knighted young man that the King would be carried carefully down the gangway when they came into port. All preparations were made, and the King was carefully carried from his cabins and placed on a stretcher on the deck, so he might feel the ocean air upon his face once more.

"I had thought. . . when I was young that. . . to die. . . looking up, at such an. . . endless blue, and feeling. . . such wind as this upon. . . my face, would be. . . the most peaceful thing. . . I could imagine. It is still. . . so," he whispered haltingly to Sir Tristan as they sailed slowly into the port of Cair Paravel.

"Indeed, my lord king," Tristan murmured, tears falling down his cheeks silently, mourning the King who he was beholding breathe his last few breaths.

 **~xoO)|(Oox~**

Rilian was rushed to the docks, and stood there as the gangway was lowered. He had been dressed in a wine-red shirt with silver trimmings –he had declared he would not wear green because of personal reasons, and refused to say why– and a deep red cloak, his head bare. Sir Cae had presented him with a silver knight's chain, rumored to have once been King Edmund's, and told him that it was within his rights to wear it about his neck. Black boots and dark brown breeches finished his attire. Behind him were many hundreds of nobles and subjects, awaiting their king to walk down the gangway.

But, as they waited, a young man with long wavy brown-blonde hair dressed in fine dark clothes came down the gangway, his head bowed. When his boot-clad feet touched the stones of Cair Paravel's docks, he looked up, scanning the crowds intently until his hazel eyes lighted upon Rilian's pale head in the sea of dark ones. At once he walked towards the Crown Prince. What he said to the youth, none heard.

"You are Prince Rilian, the Lost but now Found son of King Caspian, tenth of that name?" Tristan whispered haltingly, his voice low with barely concealed emotions.

"I am he. What has happened? Pray tell, for you seem in a great distress," Rilian whispered, grasping the young man's shoulders in a comforting manner.

"I- I am Sir Tristan of the Table, knighted on the island of Galma by Aslan the Great Lion. My l-lord– my lord–" he struggled to speak, his voice breaking. "My lord, the king. . . he is dying, and he cannot walk down here to give you his blessing. But even such a thing as death would not stop him," Tristan finally managed, smiling sadly and turning to motion to the Narnians now visible on the deck of the _Silver Swan_ , bearing their king's stretcher upon their shoulders as they carefully descended the gangway.

"Thank you, Sir Tristan. May Aslan keep you in His Peace," Rilian murmured, parting from the young man and slowly walking to the stretcher, which the Narnians had placed near the foot of the gangway. At the rail, Lord Drinian watched, his tears falling fast and unashamedly as he beheld the death of his friend. . . and his king.

"Ah, Rilian. . . You look just. . . like your mother," Caspian struggled, reaching up a trembling hand towards his son's face.

"Father, forgive me, I never meant to leave you," Rilian whispered, grasping the frail hand in his youthful one and holding it tightly.

"No, do not speak. . . I understand. . . May your rule be long. . . the sun shine. . . upon you. . . May Aslan. . . guide you in. . . all things. . . The wisdom of the kings and queens who were. . . before you. . . be ever upon you. . . Do not forsake the Great Lion. . . who gave us all we have." Caspian murmured weakly, a kind smile upon his face and a gentle glimmer of peace in his dark eyes at beholding his son.

"Why must you die and I live? Why must this happen to us? I cannot be without you yet, father!" Rilian cried in a low voice.

"My son, Aslan shall not leave you, and. . . you will _not_ be alone," Caspian returned in a firm but tired voice. "No matter the. . . sorrows, no matter the pain. . . He does not abandon those who hope in Him and have faith. . . in His glorious power," Caspian declared softly.

Rilian's tears fell as the king breathed painfully. "Such are the king's words, so let them stand," the Prince replied in a quiet voice.

"I am. . . _content."_

Rilian's head fell upon the king's chest, and it was only when his shoulders shook with silent sobs that those around him realized the king was no more.

Sir Cae, coming to stand beside Sir Tristan, noticed two young people, a youth and a maid, near the edge of the gathering, watching with tear-stained faces. He recognized them, though older and not so well-kept, as the same two who had been at the king's departure a year ago. Now he could put names to them. Sir Eustace, and if Prince Rilian would have his way, Lady Jill. He knew they had no eyes for him, but even so nodded in their direction with utmost respect, for it was because of them that the heir to the throne was at last safe home.

And so, thus was the end of King Caspian the Seafarer, tenth of that name. Rilian was crowned king of Narnia and Telmar, and his rule was just and glorious. At his side in battle and court were always seen two knights, known as Sir Cae and Sir Tristan. The knights of the Table were never so brave nor so bold after them.

Always King Rilian was remembered by the titles of Rilian the Disenchanted and the Promised, for he was held captive by strange powers, but not so great as to prevent him from fulfilling the promise set forth by Aslan. Rilian was remembered forever as the boy who pulled the sword from the stone; who was king because one man did not let his hope fail.

.

.

 ** _"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for,  
the conviction for things unseen.  
For by it the people of old received their commendation." ~ Hebrews 11:1-2_**

.

 ** _"Blessed are the pure in heart,  
for they shall see God.  
Blessed are the peacemakers,  
for they shall be called sons of God." ~ Matthew 5:8-9 _**

.

 ** _"For God is not a God of confusion, but of peace." 1Corinthians 14:33_**

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **This came about from reading the Silver Chair and a Narnian Sword-in-the-Stone fanfic by Cosette24601 at around the same time. It was not meant to be so long -around 9,000 words- but it just happened that way. All the knight's mentioned are King Arthur's Knight's of the Round Table.**

 **The Narnian knight's and their historical counterparts in Our History:**

 _ **Sir Cae of Ettinsmoor (pronounced 'kay'): Sir Kay**_

 _ **Sir Tristan the Noble-minded and Bravehearted: Sir Tristan**_

 _ **Sir Gwayn of the Table(pronounced 'g-wayne' in both spellings): Sir Gawain**_

 _ **Sir Ulfius of the Table: Sir Ulfius**_

 _ **Sir Tor the Falcon: Sir Tor**_

 _ **Sir Caradoc the Stallion: Sir Caradoc**_

 _ **Sir Elyan the White (Wolf): Sir Elyan the White**_

 _ **Sir Brastius the Centaur: Sir Brastius**_

 _ **Sir Gaheris the Stag: Sir Gaheris**_

 _ **Lord Morien, High Lord of Council: Sir Morien**_

 _ **Sir Ector of Ettinsmoor: Sir Ector (father of Sir Kay and step-father of King Arthur)**_

 **There are quite a few more spiritual things in here than I had initially wished there to be, but King Arthur is rather a spiritual tale, at least in my opinion, so I left them. I made Tristan become a knight in such a way because I wanted a person who has doubts of their faith represented. I ask questions of faith and belief, as Fyodor Dostoevsky does in the** ** _Brothers Karamazov_** **.**

 **There are many scriptures that these characters adopted as their lines of dialogue, such as Caspian's cry "Aslan, Aslan, why have you forsaken me?" when he does not understand that though the grass withers and the flower fades, the promises of Aslan stand forever. Things are not done in the time we think they should be done, but according to Aslan's (God's) time. I leave it up to you, dear readers, to discover how the scriptures tie-in with this three-part one-shot. If you need some help, I'll gladly answer you in a PM.**

 **I know in the books Rilian is only gone ten or so years, but I didn't really think that would work, what which Caspian being so old. So I made it be fifty years since Rilian's disappearance, making Caspian ninety, and any of Rilian's young friends he had known sixty or seventy years old.**

 **This is simply something written for Rilian and his father, and to begin a challenge for other writers to write their idea of The Sword in the Stone; any way they want, so long as they give credit to Cosette24601, who started it. Her story is called "** ** _The Sword in the Stone,_** **" and it's very good; I recommend reading it if you need any more ideas.**

 **Caspian's final words stem from the reprimand Aslan gives him when he declares he is unworthy of taking the throne, which goes as follows:**

 _ **"You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve," said Aslan. "And that is both honor enough to erect the head of the poorest of beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor on earth. Be content."**_

 **The music I listened to while writing this is called** ** _Sad Piano Song_** **by Killigrew on YouTube.**

 **I own nothing, (not even the cover photo) everyone should know that by now. If I did, then you'd probably be reading something about this in stores. You're not, which means I'm just writing for fun and my own enjoyment.**

 **Please tell me what you think, as I am eager always to hear your opinions,**

 **WH**


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